oathshackledbird | SoulGemmed Mailbox

Then we will go ahead and never look back.

[Diarmuid stands from the chair and moves over to where Laurent is sitting. It looks like Laurent has a headache, if rubbing at his temples is any indication. Deep down, Diarmuid wants to reach out and smooth away that pain, but he won't touch unless Laurent says he can. He won't, no matter how much he itches to do so.

He kneels near Laurent and holds out his hands slightly toward the blonde's head.]

May I?

[Now that's settled he has to go figure out what friends do. A prince, by virtue of his rank, has limited options for ‘friendship’- he's not entirely sure a knight cuts it, not that it matters, or mattered. All the knights of Auguste's Guard flocked to Uncle after his death. And now, Laurent's a Wraith.

Fuck, he’s a-

Suddenly, Diarmuid kneels.

Oh no help.

His reaction is not of someone used to such obeisance; there is an audible stuttering of breath, and Laurent for a moment looks utterly disarmed. Quickly he covers his face with a hand. Fuck he's definitely blushing.

Laurent, say something. Don't make the guy kneel there for so long.]

You- I- what?

[That was....... something.

He holds himself very still in anticipation of Diarmuid’s closeness.]

I- I guess.

Edited 2017-07-05 13:00 (UTC)

[Kneeling is so natural and comfortable to Diarmuid that he finds himself simultaneously shocked and confused at the strong reaction it pulls from Laurent. Why is he blushing so hard? Did the blonde really not think he meant what he said?

Does Laurent realize how endearing that blush is?

Ah, but there is no way Diarmuid can say that out loud, which, he can't help but think, is a shame. Maybe in the future.

For now, Diarmuid shifts forward slightly and makes a soft comforting sound deep in his throat.]

Shh... Take a deep breath and relax. Place yourself in my hands and I'll take care of you.

[As he speaks, Diarmuid carefully rests one hand on each side of Laurent's face, letting his fingers gently rub at the blonde's temples for a few moments before mowing across his forehead and then back to his scalp, massaging away the stress that seems to be plaguing him so.]

[He twitches at the last part of Diarmuid’s words.]

I can't- just-

[It’s a harsh whisper. He fists his free hand in the sheets, holding himself rigidly still, until the gentle attention lulls him into slowly unwinding.

It's slow going. Laurent faces intimacy with uncharacteristic skittishness; like a young stag tempted for the first time to wander close and eat from one’s hand, who pauses at every sound. But Diarmuid is steadfast and gentle, undeniably, and eventually Laurent's dipping his head forward to give the knight easier access.

This does feel good. In one of his breaths is a soft hum of satisfaction.]

Shh... It's all right, Réalta Geal.

[Laurent is a trembling, frightened--even hurt--animal in his hands and that is how Diarmuid treats him. He is cautious and respects his friend's pain and fear. His touch is gentle, kind, comforting, and warm. Fingers eventually ghost their was down his jaw and to his neck, seeking to loosen the knots his knows must be there.

It's a relief when the blonde finally does start to relax. The hum of satisfaction is an encouraging sound that Diarmuid mimics in return.]

Feeling better?

[Well, he didn't just up and decide to hate all contact forever. Perhaps there’s hurt. (There's hurt. It's gonna take a while to smooth that much hurt out.)

As he senses the contact drifting down, Laurent reaches up and bats Diarmuid’s hands away.]

That’s enough for a day.

[oh right]

Thank you.

[He leans back slightly to put some space between them, to recollect himself. It drives home the point, too, but if the pink dusting his cheeks is any indication he's not distancing himself out of indifference.]

What does that phrase mean? The one you just said?

Filled your quota, hu?

[For just a moment, Diarmuid looks sad to have his hands pushed away, but he covers it with a joke and a smile as he settles back into a sitting position on the floor and lets his arms rest over his knees.]

Réalta Geal means 'bright star' in my native language.

[He bows his head, blushing slightly in embarrassment.]

I like giving nicknames to people I care about.

[The blush is back because gosh is that beautiful and cheesy, and Laurent may have a weakness. How dare you exploit it. Thankfully he doesn't register Diarmuid’s admission fully because, well, he himself is embarrassed.]

It's the hair, isn't it. Stop it, I can only tolerate so much.

[It’s an imperfect attempt at a cavalier tone, which-if the last part was meant as an insult- ruins the feeling of an insult. Laurent glances back over to Diarmuid, hunched on the floor like he never offered the man a chair.]

Is your natural instinct to sit at the foot of my bed like a dog?

[Another Schrodinger’s insult. He's really bad at this. Well, Diarmuid would know that he's fond of dogs so maybe it's a weird compliment????]

Edited 2017-07-11 13:39 (UTC)

I'm glad you like it.

[Insult? What insult? That is what the smile on Diarmuid's face seems to say. He's obviously not going to let Laurent upset him.]

And no, it's not just the hair in fact.

[Sit and think on that a while, silly man.]

I honestly think of myself more as a hawk than a dog, but dogs are wonderfully loyal and intelligent companions. There are worse things to be compared to.

[He shrugs then, but makes no move to go back to the chair.]

I'm comfortable here and it's relaxing. I came from a time where chairs weren't always an option, after all.

It isn't a negative comparison. I'm fond of dogs.

[Isn’t loyal to a fault what Diarmuid is, anyway? Laurent thinks the comparison is quaint. Dogs are even not entirely sold on chairs. ~~Dogs are also adorably simpleminded.~~

There's a moment’s pause before he continues, thoughtful this time.]

… the starburst used to be my brother’s emblem. You don't know that, do you?

[This probably isn't what Diarmuid meant, but stars are significant to him for this reason and it's not easy to think of something else. He's not about to guess it's a compliment anyway. The metaphor’s realistically about how he's distant and impossible to read clearly.]

So you admit to being fond of me by proxy. I'm not going to let you forget that.

[There is a sly look in Diarmuid's face for just a moment before his expression shifts to one of surprise.]

It is? No, I didn't know that. Is that a bad thing?

[There's a touch of worry in his voice.]

I was thinking more about how beautiful and dangerous stars can be. They are also lonely. It's true their light is a guiding one, but the things they guide can never come too close lest they be destroyed.

[And yet, he still wants to come close. How foolish of him.]

Don't you go around announcing it.

[It’s not a denial, technically.

With that Laurent eases himself off the bed and onto the floor, where he sits with one knee drawn up. Let it be said that he is nothing if not fair.]

Now you're no longer the perfect height for head scratches.

It's… I don't know. You would've liked Auguste.

[On the subject of his brother, Laurent is unusually quiet.]

If you think I'm a shining paragon of leadership- or goodness, whatever- you should've seen him.

Though, I didn't know stars were dangerous.

The child in me is disappointed. I loved nothing more than to have my hair ruffled or my head patted back then.

[Diarmuid gives Laurent a warm smile and then cautiously moves to sit next the blonde so he can lean against the bed.]

I think you're you and I like you for you. You don't have to be anything or anyone else. I do have to admit that I am glad your family and I would have gotten along.

[He nods then, idly drumming his fingers on the floor at his side.]

That kind of scientific knowledge was not around during my first life either. Apparently, stars are mostly made of extremely hot gases that are under a lot of pressure. Anything that gets too close is burned up or torn apart, yet at the same time, it's the light and heat from those giant balls of gas that make it possible for the world to exist as it is.

[Basic astronomy 101 courtesy of the Holy Grail.]

Are hawks that eager for affection?

[Stop smiling at him with that open, trusting face. That smiley, smile- fuck- Laurent’s lips quirk up a bit, shyly flattered, before okay nope putting a lid on that. He exhales carefully, succeeds more in taking the compliment without turning red, and quickly lobs in a teasing jab. It sounds halfway casual.

He somewhat stiffly reaches out, uncertain, and brushes Diarmuid’s hair once. It's rough, kind of haphazard; Laurent's not going for tender attention here. No homo…?]

… thank you. [OK MOVING ON] What of your second life?

[Sorry, Laurent. That smile isn't going anywhere. In fact, Diarmuid is going to lean slightly toward the blonde and bump his head up against that tentative touch much like a contented kitten might. He might just be a few steps short of purring in approval.]

Who wouldn't want affection from those they care about? Though, I will admit I was a very affectionate boy. I could never get enough of it.

[He's a pretty affectionate adult too. Some things just never change.]

You're welcome. As far as my second life goes, a magical artifact dumped a lot of information into my head. Like whole libraries worth so that I would be able to function in a world that had changed a great deal in about 2000 years. It's the reason I know what I just told you, but like any information dump there are some odd and frustrating gaps.

[It's led to him being embarrassed more often than not.]

[this is platonic??? this is platonic?????????

Maybe Diarmuid really does solicit hugs from all his friends. It honestly wouldn't be surprising by this point. Don’t overthink.

Laurent drops his hand and leans back against the bedframe, taking deep breaths.]

I meant in general. But as much as I'm curious- is the King’s game still going on?

[It is perfectly acceptable between friends to give and receive hugs. Touch is a great method of giving and receiving comfort, don't you know!]

As far as I can tell? Yes, it is still very much going on.

[It's one of the reasons he didn't really mind being stuck in a voided house. He couldn't really be expected to follow orders stuck in there, could he? No punishments have come his way anyway, so he's either been really lucky or exempt because of his location. Considering how terrible his luck has always been, he's going to assume the latter instead of the former.]

Then- as interesting as your life sounds- I'm afraid we have more pressing matters to get back to.

[A crown prince doesn't sit around telling tales when there are things to attend to, unfortunately. He is, potentially and unfortunately, still one of the most qualified to attend to things.]

[As much as he wishes to, Diarmuid can't argue that. He's got his fair share of experience and qualifications, but after how his attempts at mucking up the last game went, he's been hesitant to take the lead again.

Well, if nothing else, he guesses everyone going to Tsukudo-cho did eventually bring Laurent here. That's one positive in his book.]

Agreed. Do you have anything specific in mind as a course of action?

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